My English translation of the poem "Kunti" by contemporary Telugu poet, Chayaraj
How many kamasutras did he whisper in her blossoming ear?
Attacked her with floral arrows and completely overpowered her.
Tossed her virgin heart into the ball of inferno.
Imagining Sun-god glorious, imagining a youngman gorgeous,
she let loose the heavy mass of her hair, just like her garment.
She couldn’t grasp – in the thrall of that wolf in sheep’s clothing,
under his flowing beard, the hermit lecher – that she was tripped up.
When she came to her senses, it was dawn already.
To the shattered virgin crying buckets,
Gods came with blessing trinkets, the arrogant buffaloes.
“There's my address in the sky,” Sun-god disappeared.
Indra was jealous, Chandra just laughed.
Grieving for the fruit of her womb,
she left Karna adrift in the rapids of time.
The Hindu constitution hid all traces of maternal love within her womb’s sorrow.
The royal poet Nannaya, in Telugizing Mahabharata,
trumpeted the secret of this virgin’s rape as a savory expose,
proudly proclaiming rape culture as the Aryan ideal.
“Impregnated virgins give birth to Karnas and Bharathas,”
sang ‘Poet-emperors’ and ‘Compassion-incarnates’ in their eulogies.
Via their ‘language master’ heirs,
they teach it to school children, thus satisfying their urges.
On the winnowing fields, on the sidewalks,
in front of hostels and behind hospitals,
a virgin delivers a baby, only to discard it.
Government shows the way to orphanages.
The budget of Women and Children’s Welfare throws a party to male bees.
Feudal patriarchy comes to life with its mustache twirled up.
Kunti of lore, lost in unending thoughts, barely lived on.
Kunti of yesterday, desperately struggling, was brutally murdered.
Kunti of today is being welcomed into the swell of determined revolts.
How many kamasutras did he whisper in her blossoming ear?
Attacked her with floral arrows and completely overpowered her.
Tossed her virgin heart into the ball of inferno.
Imagining Sun-god glorious, imagining a youngman gorgeous,
she let loose the heavy mass of her hair, just like her garment.
She couldn’t grasp – in the thrall of that wolf in sheep’s clothing,
under his flowing beard, the hermit lecher – that she was tripped up.
When she came to her senses, it was dawn already.
To the shattered virgin crying buckets,
Gods came with blessing trinkets, the arrogant buffaloes.
“There's my address in the sky,” Sun-god disappeared.
Indra was jealous, Chandra just laughed.
Grieving for the fruit of her womb,
she left Karna adrift in the rapids of time.
The Hindu constitution hid all traces of maternal love within her womb’s sorrow.
The royal poet Nannaya, in Telugizing Mahabharata,
trumpeted the secret of this virgin’s rape as a savory expose,
proudly proclaiming rape culture as the Aryan ideal.
“Impregnated virgins give birth to Karnas and Bharathas,”
sang ‘Poet-emperors’ and ‘Compassion-incarnates’ in their eulogies.
Via their ‘language master’ heirs,
they teach it to school children, thus satisfying their urges.
On the winnowing fields, on the sidewalks,
in front of hostels and behind hospitals,
a virgin delivers a baby, only to discard it.
Government shows the way to orphanages.
The budget of Women and Children’s Welfare throws a party to male bees.
Feudal patriarchy comes to life with its mustache twirled up.
Kunti of lore, lost in unending thoughts, barely lived on.
Kunti of yesterday, desperately struggling, was brutally murdered.
Kunti of today is being welcomed into the swell of determined revolts.
| TTV_Jan31.wma |
The Telugu poem in my voice
నే చదివిన తెలుగు పద్యం
A request: Please show this translation to your friends who do not know Telugu. What did they think? Does the translation read like a poem? Were they able to understand it? Did they think some further explanations were necessary to appreciate the poem better? Let me know.
నే చదివిన తెలుగు పద్యం
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